


our souls will always find each other

by bluestxrsbats



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: American Pilot Damian Wayne, Basically me writing historical dramas, F/M, Jaeger pilot Damian Wayne, Pacific Rim AU, Pirate AU, Pirate Captain Damian Wayne, Soulmates, World War Two era, apart from he’s not an angel, reader inset, sort of like the book fallen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-07 13:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20310619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestxrsbats/pseuds/bluestxrsbats
Summary: Damian Wayne looks so familiar, seems as if you have known him forever. Every mannerism, every quirk, you swear you have seen before. What neither of you know is that you have met through various points of time, in different centuries or different timelines in different situations. Either way, you always find each other.Destiny is a funny thing, but what happens when for the first time, you remember?





	1. 21st Century.

“Have we met before?”

Damian Wayne, son of the infamous Bruce Wayne, stood before you with an expression that could only be described as curious.

His dark hair curled long on the top of his head, eyes narrowed with barely concealed suspicion. They were a bright and clear green blue, you noticed absentmindedly, an ornery stare that matched his sharp and strong jaw. Your fingers itched of their own accord to reach out and gently run the pads of your fingers across his high cheekbones.

It was as if you had done it before, as if it was something you did often, because it wouldn’t have felt out of place.

His tan skin glowed in the dying sun of the empty corridor, highlighting just how handsome he really was. God, there was something so achingly familiar about Damian Wayne,

”I...don’t think we’ve met before.” It was the truth, for although you felt a sense of warmth, of _home_, when you looked at Damian Wayne, you had never met him before now.

There was not even fleeting glances in classes, nor any other interaction because you had never even seen him before today, and this was your first day at school. Yet, in the few seconds in his presence a calm had seeped into your skin and there was a forest thickening in your heart.

He was so familiar. You swore you had smoothed the frown between his thick eyebrows before, that those vibrant eyes that captured your attention so very easily, you had stared at for hours. Those hands, you had held before, danced with, kissed.

It hit you like a tidal wave, it was if you had knew him like an old friend. Like a lover that you have just reconnected with after years apart; a familiarity borne of a connection that has spanned years, not just a split moment.

Fiddling with your fingers, you looked up. There was an intensity to the boy’s stare that made your cheeks flame and your heart beat faster and faster, fluttering in your chest like a little hummingbird.

”You are so...so beautiful, so _familiar_,” he spat with red cheeks at his admission, “It can’t be possible, no. This is some trick.”

”It’s not a trick, I don’t think, but I don’t know why I seem to know you. It’s ridiculous...we’ve never even met before today.”

Damian Wayne was supposedly a hot head; a boy that was more of a man, who had seen sights that no one had ever seen. There was mystery about him, one that shrouded the boy so thickly that he was almost a legend. Handsome, you had been warned, but don’t let appearances deceive you.

Nothing could have prepared you for the devastatingly looks he sported. Damian was easy to pick out in the crowd: tall, broad shouldered and imposing. The coldness of his features and scowl meant people subconsciously cleared a path for him. He never spoke, apart from the odd intelligent answer in class.

But now, standing in front of you bathed in rich sunlight, Damian Wayne looked softer, more likeable than ever. 

He reached out tentatively, as if not truly believing he was doing it, and rested his warm palm on your shoulder. Instinctively, as if you had done it before, you relaxed into him, and it felt as if something just clicked.

This was right, despite the wrongness of it.

That’s how you both stood, entangled together heartbeats syncing like a time old dance that had occurred before in an empty corridor. Neither of you moved, too scared to break the fragile feeling of home that you somehow shared, cast in golden rays together. 

Nothing had felt so fundamentally right, nothing had touched at the very strings of your heart the same way. Entwined almost with a boy that you knew nothing about, it felt as if you knew everything about him.

It was so familiar, but utterly perfect. A mystery, yet an epiphany.


	2. 1st dream - Pirates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s going to be a little like the film and book Fallen: Damian and you have met before, you know, and it’s going to be across time in different situations. This one will have another part too :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy, leave kudos and comments if you like it. I will get round to updating my other Damian Wayne/Reader fic, I promise. I realise I have constrained this fic by writing it as a female reader which kinda annoys me, but it is easier such as in this episode if you get the gist of it.
> 
> Enjoy :)

_The first thing you noticed about the young pirate was that he was undeniably handsome._

_It was only when he hauled you abord his ship that you realised that he was no ordinary pirate boy. The chorus of ‘Aye aye, Captain’ made you realise that the pirate that had taken you was indeed, the youngest Captain to have ever lived._

_Damian Wayne, son of the princess Talia Al Ghul and the notorious pirate of the seas, Bruce Wayne._

_You supposed you should have guessed his status, considering he wore a red embroidered brocade jacket worn over his shirt. There had been other matters at hand, however, like how tightly he clasped your arm behind your back, to his warm chest. That, and the fact he was leading you away from the secluded bay in which you had been sitting, and towards a rather imposing pirate ship, flag flying and name printed across the side in crude paint._

_His clothes were rather dirty but in a ruggedly appealing way; his cream linen shirt open almost all the way down to his navel, exposing a strong tanned chest that if you were not a lady of standard and meekness you would have ran your fingers across his bare skin. His belt held no pistol but instead swords, glinting in the sunlight. The boy’s hair was long and thick, dark as ebony and held back with a single green rag._

_It had been a most unladylike way to escort a woman, but then he was a pirate. You were lucky he hadn’t killed you yet, or even raped you. Pirates were known far and wide from the clear seas and blue skies as savages when it came to stealing women off of the sandy beaches. Curls escaping your pins and tumbling around your shoulders in disarray, he had pressed a hand to your shoulder and gently told you that if you did not fight, you would not end up in the gallows and could remain at peace._

_Salty breeze whipping around your face as you stood on deck, you turned to the Captain who was feared from Havana to Bridgetown, a pirate so young and yet already a legend spoke in hushed voices. The land was retreating fast, soft sands becoming memories as you floated out on calm sea. He was already staring at you, a smirk on his handsome face as he took in your duck egg blue dress - a present for your engagement to a man your parents had chosen, a man double your age - and dirtied lace petticoat._

_“What do you want from me, pirate?” The boldness shocked you, but you wanted to know. “Are you to kill me, to rape me and throw me to Davy Jones’ Locker? Get it over with, if that is what you are to do?”_

_He laughed at you, as if you were spouting stupidity. “No, lady, I plan to ransom you, that ring of yours is a sparkler, that’s for sure. I wouldn’t treat you like that, and neither would my crew.”_

_“But...”_

_You stepped closer, no longer meek and mild. If he sent you back there, to them, then you would have to marry the mayor. God, you would give anything not to go back, to have to parade around in corseted dresses so fancy that you felt like a toy, on an arm of a man that wanted you to give yourself to him in every way despite the difference in age. You would be a trophy, an alliance, a destiny of unhappiness and tainted love that spanned nowhere else other than the bed._

_In a moment of madness that was most unmannerly for a lady, you dropped to your knees in front of the Captain._

_”Please don’t send me back.” It was a whisper, even with your head bowed, and you could feel the panic washing over you. If you returned, you would be married right away just in case anything else happened. You had prolonged it for so long, but this would be the last stand that would seal your fate. “Please, I beg of you. If you send me back I will be fated to a life so awful that I will have to end it. Please, do not ransom me back. I will do anything...anything.”_

_It was then you felt a calloused hand touch your chin, tipping you to meet his ornery gaze. It reminded you of the iridescence of an abalone shell, the bright blues and greens so entirely unique, striking. His gaze was soft, softer than you believe a pirates stare could ever have been._

_“I must send you back, for there is no place for you on this ship. There will be a ransom.” The tears you wept were true; salty betrayal from a boy that you had only known briefly, a pirate, a man to be feared. And yet, you did the opposite to what your mother would have wanted you to do, to what you had been taught with books on your head and dainty heels._

_“Have my ring! Pawn my shoes! Please, don’t send me back.” You had caused quite the scene, silence rippling through his men. You could see his patience thinning, but you could not bring yourself to care._

_You ran across the ship, tears blinding your vision as men stepped out of your way, still leering but wary. You must have looked a picture, rushing towards the side of the ship getting ready to jump. At least you find peace in the ocean. Just as you were about to jump, you were swept up against a hard chest._

_“You will not be doing that on my ship, Lady. I need you in one piece, and you need yourself to stay barnacle-less. There is a life on the shore for you, no matter what you think of it.”_

_He shouted to a tall man to man the ship, voice booking no disagreement. Tightly clasped in his arms, his strong hands holding you up in a flurry of skirts, he deposited you in a rather richly furnished room._

_There was mahogany furniture and fine drapes of golds and yellows and greens. The bed, in the centre of the room had linen sheets, light in the warmth of nights in the Caribbean. In the corner was a single table, covered in maps and paperweights, and above it sat multiple weapons that had obviously been collected from someone’s travels._

_“These are my quarters,” he said carefully watching your gaze skim the swords, “You will not be able to get to them unless you have a key, which you don’t. Stay here and rest, lady.”_

_You nodded, stepping towards the maps on the table, running your fingers lightly over them with interest. It was of the stars, of islands and places that had never been explored, of towns with large banks worth robbing and places in which to avoid. The whole thing was a glimpse into his life._

_It was only then that you realised how close you were standing to him, and your cheeks flushed bright red. His chest was to your back, looking over your shoulder as you took in every sepia map. He didn’t move even when he asked your name, a whisper of hot breath on your cheek, a promise that seemed much too intimate._

_Nodding at your words, his hands found your hips of their own accord. If it had been anyone else, you would have told them where to go and stepped on their foot with your shoes, but you let the Captain rest there. At this point you would be happy if he took you as his mistress, as long as you didn’t have to go back._

_“Call me Captain Wayne...or Damian.”_

_”Y/N” You left out your title on purpose._

_“A beautiful name for a beautiful lass.” His voice made your stomach turn, made your blood sing and you were afraid of how much you liked it._

_For days you lingered out of sight in the Captains quarters, beside yourself with the fear of returning. You would give anything to stay on this ship, on the sea for it gave you a freedom that a lady of your status would never taste. It was cruel to give you so much just to snatch it away again._

_Captain Wayne was elusive, despite first impression, aloof but hinting at a kindness that he didn’t try to hide with you. He commanded his men efficiently for his age an inexperience - though you doubted he could be called that now, for what his eyes showed was a man trapped in the body of a teenage boy - and made sure that you stayed hidden away._

_You spent the weeks waiting for the ransom pondering over his maps; sitting in the window and looking out across the rippling turquoise, so clear that you could see the fish darting below the surface. Damian’s linen curtains, would alert you to his presence as when the heavy door opened the rush of wind through the room would make them billow in the soft warm breeze._

_Spending time together in the evenings started off as companionable, slowly morphing into something more, something that a lady promised to another should not be revelling in as you were. Both you and the captain - or Damian, as you increasingly called him when it was just the two of you - would siphon through the maps and re draw the constellations like freckles across the paper. Closer, he would creep to you and you him, subconsciously as if finding comfort from each other._

_And then the inevitable happened. You told yourself to put distance between you, to not let him get close. Men were all the same, your mothers voice echoed with dainty snark in your head, all looking for visceral pleasure in a soft body. But there was something about the Captain that drew you in and ensnared you._

_Gently, you drew the last star of the constellation on the thin paper. Breathing a sigh of relief, you clasped your corseted waist with a slight groan. Damian let you borrow a large shirt at night when he slept on deck with his men, so that the dress would be fairly clean. Today, the cinched waist dug into your ribs much more than normal, and you itched to undo the lacing._

_You heard a deep voice whisper in your ear, Captain Wayne had moved closer. “Are you alright? I can unlace it a bit, I won’t look but those corsets look so uncomfortable.”_

_Something in you made you nod to him, despite the alarm bells ringing in a cacophony in your mind. With hands that seemed practiced with lacing - though you didn’t spare that a thought, after all the boots he perpetually wore were laced all the way up the front intricately - he gently loosened the corseted waist of you dress._

_Eyes fluttering shut, you allowed yourself to submerge into the feeling of warmth seeping through the silk of your dress. His hands never wandered, never strayed from the lacing. It made you relax back into him, the quiet turning the air thick and charged with an electricity that flowed through you both. Damian didn’t jump, instead looping his hands around your waist, nuzzling gently into your cheek. The moment was hung in viscous time, thick as honey and just as sweet, one in which you never wanted to escape from._

_It was different after that. The aloofness increased tenfold once more, as if he did not trust you two together. You missed Damian’s company, instead taking to listen to his voice commanding his men, talking to them like comrades. It was a balm to the wound that had healed with his help. But after all, you were betrothed to another man, betrothed to a life on land and he the sea. It didn’t stop you yearning for him though, your heart recognising him as the one that it belonged to._

_A few days later, Damian rushed in, brocade coat unbuttoned and shirt low, eyes hard and jaw determined. His face softened when he saw you, all hard lines smoothing. Rushing towards you with long steps, you heard the trembling shouts of ‘Ship on starboard’. The captain stepped towards you, pressing into your hands a sword, small and sharp and deadly._

_“I...if you don’t hear three knocks do not open the door. It shouldn’t come to that, but don’t come out. If...if someone comes in, use the sword.” His voice was low with worry, hints of anger breaking through._

_Captain Wayne stepped closer to you, touching your arms gently for the first time since that night. It sent a jolt of warmth right through you, intensifying when he rested his forehead on yours in an intimate gesture. “Stay safe, my love.”_

_And with that he was out the door, sword pulled form its scabbard and glinting harshly in the sliver of sunshine. He looked an imposing commander, every inch a leader. You heard the gunfire, the screams of men and sounds that rocked you to the core. Balling a fist in your mouth was most unladylike, but given the situation you didn’t bring yourself to care. You heard a gnarled voice shout your worst nightmare. “Your Captain is dead. Surrender to us.”_

_The door started banging, hinges creaking under pressure. This was it, you were going to be taken by pirates who killed and pilfered. So you did the only thing that you thought, with wet cheeks, brought the small sword to your chest and pushed. You would be free, free to be with Damian and free from the world._

_If you had waited a split moment, you would have heard Damian’s shout as he stabbed the man holding his supposedly dead body. You would heard the men fight with more vigour, and win._

_When Damian finally came though the door, your body was already cold, fingers stilled. You never heard his anguished cry over your lifeless form, never were privy to his anger over his carelessness, over the fact he cared for you too much. Clutching your beautiful dress, he cried into your body for the first time since he was a child, allowing the tears to flow._


	3. 2nd dream -World War Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding Lieutenant Damian Wayne, a crashed American Pilot and taking him into your house is not a particularly good idea, especially as the island is under occupying forces in the middle of a war with seemingly no end.
> 
> But you are going to do your bit, and maybe even fall in love. It’s destiny, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has undertones of real life. The island I live on was actually the only part of British soil occupied during WW2. 
> 
> I’ve tried to keep it quite brief, but hope you enjoy. Please leave kudos and comments, it makes my day! Thank you :)
> 
> NEXT ONES MY CHANCE TO WRITE A PACIFIC RIM AU WOOOO!

_ The war impacted everyone differently, especially since the island - everyone’s home for generations and generations - was occupied by German forces. Suddenly, going into town to buy food, seeing friends or even just walking outside brought questioning. It was like being in a prison which looked like your home. _

_ Not even pinning back your hair and putting on a nice dress could brighten your mood, not now that your mother was ill and your father fighting; malnourishment was rife in the gauntness creeping into everyone’s features, the pale anaemic colour of skin a haunting reminder of the world around. _

_ Running the family shop was fine, the little granite wall outside with sea views in every direction taking most of your attention along with the two old ladies Mrs Le Cornu and her good friend Mrs Mausrier. They would potter around the shop, prodding the little amount of vegetables you had, the small rations of butter and eggs. It was awful, having to look children in the eyes and tell them that there was no food left.  _

_ Then, one night, something incredible happened. Hearing planes overhead became white noise after a while, no use daydreaming about whether they were British or American because they were almost always the Luftwaffe. But this time, being so close to the coast you heard it crash, loud, a bang so distinctive and a crunch so awful that it had you - despite the curfew - running in your slippers towards the inferno beginning in the bay. Your curlers, thank goodness, were pinned well under the headscarf. _

_ That was when you found him, lying on the beach barely conscious, starched clothes soaked through to the bone under the yellow life jacket and dark hair flattened to his tanned skin. American, the uniform was unmistakable. Gently, you reached out and prodded him, eliciting a groan. _

_ “Come on,” you whispered, “I can’t carry you. The house is just over the hill, we can get there before they arrive. You’ll be safe.” _

_ Golly, what were you doing? If they found him - found out you had an American pilot in your house - you would be both sent off to camps in Europe, or worse be shot. Yet, seeing his comrades floating lifelessly in the water, glazed with gold from the fire, the words found their way out of your mouth. You couldn’t just leave a man that was trying to save you from this, no matter how far removed. _

_ Stumbling to his feet and clutching his side, he took a good look at you, bringing a heat to your cheeks. You just managed to smuggle him through the bushes into your house, depositing him in a small room near the kitchen.  _

_ “The Germans will probably knock on the door soon to see if I know anything, try not to make a sound. Are you hurt badly anywhere?” Stepping towards him, you touched the gash on his forehead. _

_“How do I know that I can trust you, doll?”  His accent was thick, New Jersey maybe, though living on such a small island you had no idea on the intricacies of accents. All you knew was that Americans were brash, and they made lovely nylon stockings._

_ You scoffed. “I could have left you there for them. I...almost did.” _

_ His green eyes snapped to yours with an understanding that almost took you aback. They were piercing, stunning and captivating like the shallow waters in the summer. “Damian, Lieutenant Damian Wayne, fifth division United States Air Corps.” _

_ You smiled, cheeks flushed. His voice was positively sinful like Christmas morning and bread and butter pudding mixed together. “Y/N L/N, nice to meet you though it would have been better in other circumstances.” _

_ Sure enough, two soldiers knocked on your door not ten minutes later, rifles over their arms. You answered them without arising suspicion. They were kind to you, after all you supplied them and their ranks with food sometimes, although not by choice. When you returned, Damian had already started cleaning his wounds. You helped sew some of them up, dabbing on some spirit to clean them under the soft glow of the candlelight. _

_The next day, after sleeping on the gravity of the situation, you checked on the American, who was sleeping soundlessly in your couch. You started breakfast: a slice of potato bread each with a half a rasher of bacon, a thin spread of butter and an egg each. It was nothing, but at least it was something.  Damian awakened from the smell of sizzling bacon, shuffling across towards the cooker with a wince. Quickly, you took a plate up to your mother, thundering back down the stairs. Placing the food in front of him, you sat down and actually took in Damian’s face. He was drop dead gorgeous, dog tags glinting against the sliver of tanned chest exposed. Dark hair and sharp features made him seem very handsome. Gee, you couldn’t tear your eyes from him._

_ “Do you...do you by any chance know sign language?” _

_ It was a stupid question, but it would mean that he wouldn’t have to talk and give away that he was most definitely American. “Kinda,” he said thoughtfully around a mouthful of stale bread, “I mean,I learnt it as a kid so it’s a bit fuzzy.” _

_ “Is it passable?” He looked at you strangely. “You see, my family run a shop, and you can’t stay in here forever, so I thought you could help me. But your accent is, well, very noticeable, so using sign language you could talk to me still, but without actually talking.” _

_ You were rambling, but this idea of yours was unraveling. His jaw worked under his fairly clean shaven chin, and it dawned on you then that he couldn’t have been much older than you, or at all, and you were only seventeen.  _

_ “I think it’s a good idea, doll, at least worth a try.” The rest of the day and afternoon was spent conversing in sign language, building on it until both you and the American were near fluent. It would work, for it had to. After that, you ended up talking, Damian telling you all about American; the sights, the sounds, the smells. It kept you enthralled until night fell. _

_ That’s how it went for a few weeks, working side by side in the shop, collecting coupons and feeding starving, oppressed people. The townsfolk has it much worse, what with patrols all the time, hanging on edge waiting for the knock that was to decide your fate. _

_ Damian signed away perfectly as you passed a few tins to him, an egg or two, restocking the shelves. Quiet days you would explain the best areas of the island, talk about your childhoods and laugh over memories that seemed so far ago. Once, you ever taught him how to braid a flower crown with the dandelions from the garden. _

_ Then, after two weeks of just about getting away with it, a surprise visit from four soldiers had you on edge. Damian was in plain view as well, in a pair of ripped overalls and a plaid flat cap looking every bit the islander he wasn’t. Your knees were quaking you were sure, but your voice didn’t tremble. _

_ “Who is he?” A tall blond soldier pointed at Damian. _

_ “That is my cousin, Helier. He’s not been well recently.” Golly, The lies were flowing and you’d never been so scared in your life. If they found out, you’d been going to a concentration camp and the stories you’d heard about them made you shiver. _

_ “Yes,” the soldier smirked, “the mute, I have heard. You use sign language, no?” _

_ You nodded, not trusting anything else. “Ah, because we have had a tip that he speaks perfectly well.” _

_ “No, Helier doesn’t speak. He...makes some noise, sometimes, but he can’t hear.” Your fingers were shaking on the doorknob, slick with sweat. _

_ “Well that will be all, Miss Y/N. I hope your cousin Helier is feeling better, although I’m sure we will see you both soon.” _

_ The words carried a sinister edge, but you didn’t bring yourself to care. Letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as you shut the door, Damian was at your side. You turned around to face him, head buried into his chest as tears you were holding in resurfaced. He held you, whispering ‘thank you,” over and over agin in your ear. _

_ It carried on normally after that, your actions melding with his, a companionable friendship growing between you that teetered on more. You couldn’t help the way your cheeks reddened under his roguish smirk, or the way when you stood on the ladder his hand would rest a little too long on your lower back. Damian’s piercing stare would be so intense sometimes that you knew you were bright red. _

_ Normality began to fall again, except it was never talked about how long this charade would last. It was inevitable that soon, something would go wrong. A secret this important always comes to light one way or another, but neither you nor Damian ever breached the topic. _

_ Mrs Le Cornu and Mrs Mausrier, it turned out, were more observent than you thought, and not half as loyal as you believed; islanders were supposed to stick together and rally against the occupying forces. They were sharp eyed, and it made a mixture for disaster. _

_ But that day that Damian served them, you saw the keen eyed Mrs Le Cornu’s gaze sharpen at his chest. He knew too, though he shifted to hide it but the damage was already done. His dog tags glinted in the light, no question as to who he really was.. _

_ “They know,” Damian said quietly that evening, fingering the dog tags that had betrayed him this once, “They know I’m American.” _

_ “They won’t tell,” you had said, “We stick together here, always. They knew my mother as a child, and my uncles and aunts. I’m pretty sure Mrs Le Cornu’s sister delivered me.” _

_ “If you’re sure.” He didn’t sound sure, fists clenched, pacing. Tentatively you touched his arm, and he stopped and turned to you with wild eyes. “I’ve put you through so much, doll, and I can’t thank you enough. You saved me. I will always thank God for sending me such an angel.” _

_ Spluttering, you didn’t know what to say. It didn’t matter though, because Damian cradled your face in his larger hands, stroking your cheeks. His voice was low, bleeding into something that made you warm inside. _

_ “I know ‘m being too forward, but by damn, I don’t care.” And with that whispered admission, he slanted his lips against you. It was as if all your dreams came true, as if you weren’t in the middle of the war, on an occupied island with a man that would be shot on sight. You almost could have been sweethearts, getting ready to meet your parents. It could have been a future, a taste of happiness.  _

_ You fell into bed with him that night, in a tangle of sheets and gentle caresses, names sung in ecstasy. Fingering his dog tags, you began to drift off, content for the first time in a long time. “When this is over, I’m gonna marry you. Mark my words, doll.” _

_ The next morning you awoke to banging on the door, and you looked at each other with panic. Just dressed, you rushed down the stairs as the door was rammed in, and an officer seized your wrists and pushed you against the wall. The sense of betrayal you felt left a bitter taste in your mouth. How could they betray their own? How could friends sentence each other to the death?  _

_ Damian came running down the stairs at your screams - charade gone - landing a fury filled punch to a solider trying to handcuff him. Shirtless and angry he looked a striking sight, but eventually he was put down by three German soldiers. _

_ “Y/N L/N, tomorrow morning you will travel by boat to Germany, where you will be transported to Bergen-Belsen concentration camp on the count that you have been hiding a fugitive. You will remain there until the end of the war.”  _

_ You let out a choked sob as you heard Damian let out an anguished cry. There was no way you were coming out of their alive, no way. Tears flew freely down your cheeks. It was over. _

_ “And you, American, will be a prisoner of war sent back to Germany.” _

_ “Fuck you Nazi Scum!” Damian yelled, voice hoarse but accent unmistakable. The fight left your shoulders, there was nothing you could do now. The soldier behind you pushed you into the wall, before marching you out into the sunlight. There was a small crowd outside your house despite it nestled in the country, as if they were watching and waiting for you to be sent to your death. Faces unmoving, they stared at your every step. You made sure to spit at Mrs Le Cornu, who was hidden behind a few women. _

_Your hair was a mess, dress crumpled but you held your head high.  Just before you were shoved in the back of the van, Damian shouted out from behind you. “I’ll always love you, Y/N, always.”_

_ Face crumpling as the soldiers shoved Damian in a different van you screamed, reaching for him, drinking in every feature for you would never see him again. It was a dull ache inside, a truth you knew. _

_You never saw each other again._


	4. 21st Century

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems so familiar, as if you’ve actually lived through it. It can’t be, you met Damian Wayne last week and your mind is running rampant, that’s all. But is it?

You sat up, covered in cold sweat and tangled in sheets. The sights, the smells, the very texture of his face and colour of those eyes - your mind had been so fixated on them that you knew the colour without a doubt - had been so life like, so very real that it touched a part of you, screaming that this was no ordinary dream.

They had not been fuzzy, nor easily forgettable as most dreams were. It was as if they had imprinted themselves into the very makeup of your imagination and refused to leave. Quite frankly, it was terrifying the intensity in which the dreams came, how they ensnared you into their stories as if true.

Since you had come across Damian Wayne last week, you had seen sights that you thought were just your mind running rampant at the thought of a rather good looking boy. It was an easy way of explaining it, after all you were a teenager. But night after night, vision after vision and suddenly it became less like something of your own machinations and more like as if you were watching a film through someone else’s eyes.

Nothing came about it, though, you wouldn’t let it. Slowly, Damian became part of your everyday thoughts, where your mind would drift to in class or at night, when you were scared to close your eyes an be immersed in yet another dream. It was as if someone was changing your thoughts, controlling you to see.

It was only a week and a half after you shared something with Damian despite never even meeting him before, that you had to confront it.

Someone grabbed your arm with surprising strength and tugged you into an empty classroom. You turned around, fully ready to give this person a piece of your mind, to be met with Damian. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw set, but if you looked at him closely you could see the traces of anxiety that riddled his features.

”Have you...” He looked to the ceiling, as if even talking about what he was about to say made him feel imbecilic, “Have you had...dreams.”

”Yes, all people have dreams Wayne.”

He scowled at the bite of your voice, but this was too freaky, too weird to be a coincidence and you did not like where the conversation was going. Damian seized your arm once more.

”I think you know exactly what I am talking about. Don’t make me spell it out.”

”So you want me to instead!” You were almost yelling at this point, before remembering where you were.

“I just want an explanation!” The boy was pacing now, walking up and down with annoyance and something else.

”What, so it’s my fault then?” God, you were angry. The nerve of him, deigning that these dreams were your idea, that it was you influencing him and not the other way around. “Yes, I have had dreams where I am totally in love with you, where we keep on dying, where we live in a different bloody century.”

“I was...a pirate, a pilot.” Damian looked at your face seeing the recognition and paling significantly. “I can’t...fuck, they’re the same dreams.”

The silence between you could have split rock, you were sure. But what did this mean, the fact you shared these experiences, so real in your mind that you were sure you had been there, felt that pain, smelt the salt of the ocean, stabbed the blade into your chest.

These dreams were entwines between you, inextricably linking together you and boy you scarcely knew.

What did it mean? 


	5. The future : dream 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This dream is different, it hurts much more and somehow, the you seem more like, well, you. 
> 
> Somethings changed, because wherever this is, you’re starting to remember properly.

_ Fires. Bodies under tarpaulin that stretched as far as the eye could see. Kaiju blue, murky in the waters among people in bright yellow suits, coagulating green. Buildings, crumbling like well baked scones, flimsy as if made by children. The screams, echoing around your head far into the night. The news flashed on the television bright, San Francisco in ruins. Your family richly packed around you staring into the screen, eyes locked on the images as if magnetically pulled to them, your mothers hand finding your father’s subconsciously. _

_But that wasn’t the end of it, no. There had been Manila. Tokyo. They never stopped. The widespread attacks worsened as Kaiju became bigger and stronger and took more time - time that no one could afford to have - to take down.Fighter pilots could do nothing, the army could do nothing, the world could do nothing except watch people die and cities end up a cloud of smoke. Your own brother died, and your parents shrunk into themselves. The funeral was somber, the cries echoing for a boy taken far too soon, and you stood stoic. That night you had sobbed until you dry heaved, until there was no part of you that didn’t feel inextricably broken. It was decided then that night with your head on the toilet and tears crusting down your cheeks that you would do your part._

_No matter what it took._

_The Jaegers came along soon after. The Pan Pacific Corps, the men and women who became heroes. It didn’t come without a price, but nothing ever did these days. You yearned to be a pilot, but pushed the stupid thought aside. Engineering had always been your forte, so why not now? You trained amongst people who had suffered loss, who were passionate to help. Everyone bonded over grease and oil, cogs and spanners and intricate drawings. There was no time to mourn, the clock always ticking, an attack always imminent. _

This was no ordinary dream - vision - you thought hazily between sleepy consciousness. No, this felt like a part of you that hadn’t been born yet, as if this was something you had to look forward to. It was different, achingly different, and it made your head spin. This was no historic drama you had concocted, this was...futuristic and somehow realistic despite how stupid it sounded. You could hear the wails and cries, see a city that was the same as it was now. It was terrifying, and you wanted to shout out for help as it pulled you back into weightlessness.

_Two robots - Jaegers - in shiny glory. Gypsy Danger an Gotham Knight; they were massive, cumbersome structures with cabling so detailed that you would never put the two together, some cogs so small that you had to squint to see. Both had big, nuclear reactors that powered them and brought them to life like figments of peoples nightmares._

_Danger was piloted by Yancy and Raleigh Beckett - blonde hair and tanned skin and the American dream kind of guys - who were whispered about if they were legends. You would scoff, because yes they were skilled and yes they were talented, but they were people, not gods to be revered. Pilots already had big enough heads as it was. You had met Raleigh Beckett once, and his roguish smirk had your colleagues smiling and sending little glances his way. It didn’t matter that everyone was in a time of crisis, because we were still human. It was a reminder that warmed you heart. You huffed, he was handsome and there was no denying it, but that was it. Blush certainly hadn’t painted your cheeks when he winked your way, certainly not. Yancy was easy to get along with, kindhearted but with a healthy dose of assuredness._

_And then there were the two arrogant ones, the two co-pilots of Gotham Knight that were undoubtedly the best despite their sub par attitudes. Jason and Damian Wayne, whose father had been a Ranger and helped design the program. Jason oozed charisma and appeal and despite being a flirt was interested in the engineering of his Jaeger. You ignored his grins, for simply this was a world of life or death and not one to be fawning over boys with a superiority complex. Damian Wayne, however, was another thing altogether. He was an enigma who spent time alone contemplating something that no one was ever sure about. He was hard to get along with, acidic and callous, but strategic in every sense of the word. You had never seen him close up, only heard rumours on the tongues of people exactly like you that spat the same sentiment: spoiled brat._

You gulped in air, for this was a stilted dream that rugged on the very constraints of your mind. God, it hurt to have to experience it, but you were curious now. This was like now - you wanted to call it the present time line because this was so fucked up that you had no idea whether this was insanity or not, now - the same kind of Damian. 

Would it end the same? Would one of you die? With another sharp stabbing pain, the darkness descended.

_But it was known all along that we couldn’t keep winning, that it was illusory. The Beckett brothers Jaeger off the coast of Alaska was the start. Knifehead, he was the biggest, and broke the Jaeger up as if were plastic, flimsy. Yancy was missing - no one wanted to say the truth, the inevitable truth - and Raleigh gone. It was the start of a long list of pilots, names written out with dates that showed they were too young to die. The moments of silence became more frequent, until they no longer occurred. China, Australia, Japan. Their Jaegers dropped like flies._

_Even Gotham Knight’s duo - who were considered the best pair, who had the most kills above anyone else - was dis-abandoned in the same haunting way. Jason died, shrapnel through the suit and through his heart, though Damian was alright. But everyone knew it wouldn’t be the same, it never was after you experience someone dying through that sort of connection. They said it was what fucked Raleigh Beckett up, and now would do so to Wayne._

_But they were wrong._

_Four days later, with a black eye and visible limp, entered Ranger Pentecost and Damian Wayne, dressed in his finery, medals displayed and hat on his head. “Y/L/N” You sighed, wiping your forehead with greasy hands, ready for the shit show that was about to start._

_“Sir.” You nodded politely to Pentecost, and then Wayne. _

_Even after working here for a year, Ranger Pentecost was an imposing sight, even more so that he narrowed his eyes at you. “You know how to pilot.”_

_You put down your goggles, wiping your fingers on the boiler suit. “...Yes,” You started, before being interrupted by Wayne’s abrasive voice._

_“And you didn’t think to mention it before? I could be out there if we are drift compatible. We’ve been looking for a pilot, and you didn’t come forward. That in itself should hold a court Marshall’s attention-”_

_God, how typical._

The pain was making you roll into a ball, the throbbing like a repeated blow from an axe. This was no ordinary dream, these were not ordinary dreams. Something between you and Damian had changed that should never have been tampered with, the very threads of time. 

It sounded ridiculous - and it was there was no doubt about it - but deep down, squirming inside you, was the gut feeling of truth. 

This defied all laws of science. Hell, what was happening to you was not in any means normal. It felt as if you were suspended in a loop of painful breakages that would result in your death. 

And then, you blacked back out again.

_“I can pilot, but...not well. My uncle helped design the program, taught me a few tricks that I don’t wish to ever put into action.” Your eyes fluttered shut at the harsh memories. No, you never wanted to pilot, not after that._

_Flashes of ashes and burning, of pirates and ladies and brightest clear oceans not affected by Kaiju blue, students side by side arguing in an empty classroom with clothes exactly like the youth worse these days, of a small island in the middle of a war that had never occurred with dresses that you had never thought existed. If you had to relive those memories - so realistic yet they couldn’t have been - you would come out of it a vegetable._

_ You had to do this. It had been so nerve wrecking as a child to see the world crumble by Kaiju, see the death and pure destruction it left in its wake. If you didn’t do something, it would be worse, so much worse than this. There would be nothing left as you knew it. _

_Wiping your forehead with the back of your hand, you grimaced. “I’ll do it.”_

The feeling of nausea hit like a tidal surge, knocking you out of bed and onto the cold wooden floor of your bedroom. Breathing in, the tears found their way down your cheeks. It was emotionally tiring to have these dreams, to lie in wait with no idea in store, but now you knew.

It was crazy. Stupidly crazy, but the truth.

You has seen Damian Wayne before, lives before with him. Because somehow, future you was seeing you in the classroom with him, seeing your dreams. 

_The click of sticks against sticks was rhythmic like the thud of your feet on the mat. Sweat was beading at your forehead,but nothing was sweeter than when you tripped Damian Wayne off balance and he fell like a sac of spuds. A few well timed but rather stilted kicks and blocks filtered into a rehearsed dance between the two of you, a taunting game of cat and mouse which was evenly matched. When you landed on top of him, every inch of you aching with blooming bruises, you both smiled._

_Drift compatible._

_When you both drifted, however, it became apparent why you were so closely matched. It had fried your brains with the intensity of it, of his memories of you - the exact same - flooding into your consciousness and fusing as if two sides of a coin. It was as if it was home, finally, free._

_”What the fuck was that, back there?” He was angry, spiky black hair and dangerous green eyes that spoke volumes of fear. “Tell me, what did you do?”_

_”I...don’t know what happened. But it’s freaky, it...”_

_”The feeling it left, here,” he pointed to his chest, “it bedded itself in our minds, and now all I can see is lives that I had never ever seen before, of me, which isn’t possible.”_

_”It’s...as if we’re from the past. But...those things-“_

_”Haven’t happened. It explains why we’re drift compatible, at least.”_

_Silence spammed between the two of you, thick in the air conditioned air. You unscrewed your helmet, looking up at a boy that your mind thought you knew. For Damian Wayne couldn’t have been older than you, not up close when you could see his youthful skin and teenage scowl. _

_“It was jarring to see that. Do you actually, actually think that happened?”_

_”I...I don’t know.” His voice was free of anything other than unsureness. “I really don’t know.” _


End file.
